


Within the Borderline

by vondrostes



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Anal Fisting, Bottom Harry, Canon Compliant, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-21
Updated: 2019-03-21
Packaged: 2019-11-27 04:50:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18189986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vondrostes/pseuds/vondrostes
Summary: “Come on, babe,” Harry coaxed. The next song had just started playing, but he clearly wasn’t paying any attention to it. “’Show me that you love me and that we belong together’.”





	Within the Borderline

**Author's Note:**

> Another fisting fic. This time based on one of my favorite songs from my childhood (yeah, my parents were not great at vetting the content of the music they were exposing their children to): Stinkfist by Tool. If it's something you can jam to, I suggest listening while you read!
> 
> This was supposed to be posted yesterday, but I had a bunch of pre-op appointments for my surgery and I got distracted and forgot! I may or may not post additional oneshots in the next couple weeks--it'll depend on how I feel after my surgery.
> 
> Twitter: @vondrostes & @vondrostesupd8s  
> Tumblr: @vondrostes

Harry let out a dramatic sigh and flopped down onto his back, his head lolling off the edge of the futon with a world-weary look that would have been more suited to someone twice his age.

Mitch turned his head to stare at him and lifted an eyebrow. “What?” he asked.

“Nothing’s coming to me,” Harry said with a dramatic sigh.

Mitch was tempted to make a joke about half the planet coming to Harry, but he didn’t seem like he was much in the mood for rude jokes at the moment, so Mitch bit his tongue and scooted closer to where Harry’s head was hanging off the side of the futon.

“You have an entire backlog of finished material,” Mitch reminded him.

Harry had wanted at least half of the songs on the album to be new, though. That’s why they were holed up in Mitch’s parents’ garage-turned-studio in the new house he’d bought for them while they vacationed in Miami for the week.

“I know,” Harry whined. He bumped his head into Mitch’s, reminding Mitch of his and Sarah’s rather unruly cat. “But I just feel like everything has to be bigger and better than last time. I can’t even pick any covers; like, how do you go bigger than The Chain?”

Mitch liked Fleetwood Mac just as much as the next music buff, but he thought that Harry’s handwringing was maybe a little over the top. “It doesn’t have to be bigger every time,” he replied.

Harry huffed noisily as he rolled over to face away from Mitch again, staring up at the tennis ball hanging from the ceiling instead. “I just don’t want the music to feel stagnant,” he said firmly.

“So what were you thinking?” Mitch asked. Harry must have had some idea of the direction he wanted to go, even if writer’s block was hitting him harder than usual.

Harry finally sat up and leaned over to retrieve the pile of CDs he’d taken from Mitch’s dad’s extensive music collection, the rest of which was still sitting neatly organized on the shelves lining one whole wall of the garage. He pushed the leaning tower of records over to Mitch, who immediately began sorting through them to try and figure out what vibes Harry was going for.

Mitch spotted the problem immediately. Everything that Harry had picked out was extremely on brand…for his last album. For someone who was worried about stagnating, getting pigeonholed as a classic rock revivalist probably wasn’t the best direction to steer towards.

“Maybe you should try broadening your horizons a bit,” Mitch said in as gentle a tone as he could manage.

Harry still bristled a bit at the comment. “Like what?” he demanded.

Mitch climbed to his feet without replying and went over to the shelf of CDs, carefully scanning the collection for things he thought Harry wouldn’t have listened to before. There was a strange anxiety tied to the act; most of the albums were ones Mitch had grown up with and loved. He was slightly worried about Harry’s potential reaction to hearing them for the first time. What if he hated them?

Finally, Mitch dumped the selection onto the futon for Harry to peruse and settled back down on the love-sac again to measure Harry’s expression as he combed through the CDs.

Harry managed to keep his face relatively neutral—until he got to Ænima, at least. “Hooker With a Penis?” he questioned, looking up at Mitch with an unimpressed expression.

Mitch winced. “Well, you probably wouldn’t like that one,” he admitted. “But the rest of the album is really good. And you might have some different ideas if you listen to stuff you’ve never tried before.”

Harry raised his eyebrows and scampered off to the stereo system to put in the CD in question without even bothering to look through the rest. Mitch didn’t move, but his eyes followed Harry all the way across the garage, focusing unashamedly on the shift of Harry’s thigh muscles under the tiny athletic shorts he’d chosen to wear while they worked.

Harry barely made it to the futon before the first track started playing. He listened intently to the intro while Mitch watched him with equal intensity, trying to gauge his reaction from just the first few seconds before the singing started.

It wasn’t until the first chorus that Harry’s expression started to shift, trending toward confusion, like he was trying to figure something out based on what he’d heard. Mitch, who was intimately familiar with the first track on the album, could make a few guesses as to what Harry was thinking about.

Harry made it another thirty seconds before hitting pause on the remote and glancing back down at the album tracklist again. “Stinkfist?” he questioned, as if not sure that he was actually reading the song title correctly.

“Mhmm.”

He looked up at Mitch with a wide-eyed expression. “Is it really about…you know?”

“Fisting?” Mitch asked bluntly, trying not to laugh. He’d heard far more vulgar things come out of Harry’s mouth (and seen far more vulgar things go into it) so he wasn’t sure why he was playing coy all of a sudden.

“Yeah,” Harry replied a bit breathily.

“I’m pretty sure it’s supposed to be a metaphor,” Mitch admitted, “mostly, anyway, but yeah, I guess it is.”

Harry’s face scrunched up into something unreadable as he glanced down at the CD case again before hitting play. “Have you ever done it before?” he asked out of nowhere a few seconds later, his voice barely audible over the music.

“What?” Mitch replied automatically, his brain taking a moment to catch up to what Harry was actually asking. “Fisting?” he said through a laugh while Harry’s face reddened. “You’re serious? Have you?”

Harry’s expression was oddly composed when he looked up to meet Mitch’s gaze. “No,” he said boldly. “But I’ve thought about it.”

_I’ll bet you have_ , Mitch wanted to say, but the words caught in his throat. The garage felt too hot all of a sudden, the air stuffy and stifling. He glanced down at his phone as the song continued into the guitar solo, searching for an available distraction that would get them through the remainder of the track without one of them saying something they couldn’t come back from.

Mitch had barely pulled his phone out from his pocket before it went skittering across the floor in response to the heavy weight that had suddenly settled in his lap. “We’re supposed to be working,” Mitch reminded Harry, who was now straddling his thighs with his hands wrapped around Mitch’s neck, pouting as if Mitch ceasing to pay attention to him for more than a second was one of the worst offenses he could have committed.

“I’m horny,” Harry said point-blank.

Mitch gaped at him. “Because I made you listen to a song about fisting?”

“Yeah,” Harry replied, squirming a bit in Mitch’s lap. “And since it’s your fault, you should do something about it.”

Mitch settled his hands uncertainly on Harry’s waist, as if to steady him. The song rose to a crescendo, the bass making the floor beneath them shudder as they stared at each other from centimeters away. “What do you want me to do?” Mitch asked, the words getting all-but swallowed up in Maynard’s angry declaration over the speakers.

_I’ll—keep—digging—till I—feel—something._

Harry waggled his eyebrows with a trademark cheeky grin, injecting a bit of levity into the moment of tension, causing Mitch’s shoulders to sag a bit in relief even as he feigned incredulity at what Harry was proposing.

“Seriously? In my parents house?”

Mitch couldn’t deny that the prospect appealed to some baser part of him, the part that sort of regretted not experimenting a bit more while he’d been in high school, when he’d been so fixated on ‘rebelling’, so to speak, without ever really rebelling much at all. But if he had, Mitch realized, any boy he would have kissed in high school wouldn’t have been Harry. So maybe it was for the best that this would be his first time doing something like this under his parents’ roof. It would be Harry’s first time, too.

“In their garage, technically,” Harry replied.

“What?”

“The sound system’s better,” Harry said matter-of-factly.

Mitch rolled his eyes. “Oh my god, you want to—” He shook his head. “You’re never going to be able to listen to this song ever again.”

“Well, not in public, at least,” Harry replied as his grin widened. He pulled Mitch closer, tightening the loop of his arms around Mitch’s neck like a noose. “Come on, babe,” Harry coaxed. The next song had just started playing, but he clearly wasn’t paying any attention to it. “’Show me that you love me and that we belong together’.”

Mitch groaned and knocked his forehead against Harry’s as he closed his eyes. “Now I’m not going to be able to listen to it either.”

“It’ll be worth it,” Harry promised.

Mitch drew back with a calculating look. “It’ll be worth it if we get a song out of it,” he said in a faux-stern tone.

Harry looked taken aback. “You want me to write a song about fisting for my second album?”

“You already wrote a song about sucking dick,” Mitch pointed out.

Harry appeared to consider Mitch’s argument for a moment. “Deal,” he finally said. “You put your hand inside me, and I’ll put a song about it on the album.”

“Christ,” Mitch hissed, his mouth suddenly going bone-dry.

“Is that a yes?” Harry asked.

Mitch curled a hand in Harry’s wild curls and slammed their mouths together. “Yes,” he said as they broke apart again. “Yes, obviously, just go—” He shoved Harry off of him and onto the rug before they could get distracted. “I’ll get everything together while you clean up,” he promised.

Harry practically skipped out of the garage while Mitch sat on the love-sac and watched him go, vainly fighting against the beginnings of an erection for a minute before he finally gave up and walked stiffly into the kitchen to get some shortening to use as lube. Luckily, neither Harry nor Mitch were new to the mechanics of anal sex—both in general and with each other—but that just meant Mitch knew in advance how tight Harry was going to be, and he was a little worried about his ability to succeed in this venture.

After everything was ready to go in the garage, Mitch shot off a text to Sarah as he climbed the stairs to the master bedroom. _Remind me to tell you what Harry and I did in the studio today._

Harry was in the large cubicle shower in his parents’ bedroom. Mitch pushed open the door and lingered there in the entryway to the master bath, just watching through the frosted glass as Harry cleaned himself out in preparation for what they were about to do.

Finally, the water turned off, and Harry stepped out, his skin pink and warm and damp. Mitch stepped forward to kiss him again as he reached for a towel.

“Nervous?” Mitch asked.

Harry shook his head, but Mitch could see him trembling just a little as he hastily dried himself off. Harry kept the towel wrapped around his shoulders as they made their way back downstairs and into the garage, where Mitch had set up a cozy nest of towels for Harry to lie down on, with a single pillow for his head.

Mitch was surprised when Harry laid down on his back, his face presented to Mitch as he spread his legs wide in invitation. They’d had sex before like this, face to face, but this seemed different somehow. Almost too intimate. But Mitch didn’t complain as he settled in between Harry’s legs, instead slicking up his fingers with shortening on one hand while he set Stinkfist to play on repeat via the remote with the other. He really wasn’t ever going to be able to listen to the damn song again now, but Harry was right. It’d be worth it.

“You okay?” Mitch asked once he was three fingers deep and the song was nearly at the end of its first rotation.

Harry was tight, but not too tight, not yet, and he was staring up at Mitch with wide eyes, the emotion in his face akin to wonder. It wasn’t an unusual sight; he always looked closest to god when he was being fucked out of his mind.

Harry nodded. “The song’s sadder than I realized,” he said unexpectedly.

“Yeah,” Mitch replied, so surprised by the comment that his fingers stilled without even really meaning to. Harry shifted restlessly underneath him. “You want me to keep going?” Mitch double-checked.

“Yeah,” Harry replied with an airy sigh, his eyes fluttering closed as Mitch finally added a fourth finger.

It was strange doing it like this, being able to see everything, the stretch of Harry’s hole around his fingers as Mitch carefully pried him open. Mitch’s hand looked too big already framed by the cradle of Harry’s hips; he dubiously eyed the bloodlessness in his fingers where Harry was clamped down around him, wondering if this would even be possible in the end.

But Harry didn’t start to lose his composure until Mitch managed to fit the tip of his thumb in, when he finally started to push inside to the knuckles, slowly, inexorably moving forward as Harry squirmed and gasped with the strain of it.

“We can try this again another time,” Mitch suggested, his hand stilling with all five fingers inside Harry, just shy of the hardest part.

Harry shook his head frantically. “No, I’m okay, it’s just—it’s a lot,” he said in a higher-octave that sounded strange coming from his mouth. “I feel like…. It’s hard to describe it.”

“Keep going?” Mitch asked, unsure if what Harry was telling him was supposed to be a good thing.

Harry nodded. “Keep going.”

Mitch pushed his hand steadily forward, keeping up a concentrated pressure against the resistance of Harry’s body, carefully scrutinizing his expression for any evidence that it was too much for him to take, that he was in pain and that Mitch should stop.

Harry’s eyes rolled back into his head when Mitch’s knuckles finally popped past the clenching muscles at the entrance to his body, his whole frame going taut as Mitch’s hand slipped in to the wrist all at once now that there was nothing to hold it at bay.

Mitch froze in place as Harry’s asshole spasmed wildly around his wrist, tightening up and releasing as if frantically trying to expel him. Harry blinked rapidly up at him, his breathing heavy and uneven like he was on the verge of actually passing out.

“Does it hurt?” Mitch asked, worried.

Harry shook his head no.

“Do you want me to try to move?”

Another shake.

Mitch was kind of relieved by that. They were already moving a little too fast for his comfort levels. He wasn’t sure what he would’ve done if Harry had wanted him to start punch-fucking him or something.

“Can you just…” Harry managed in a tiny voice. “Can you kiss me again?”

Mitch nodded as he leaned in, careful not to jostle his hand to much as he connected his lips with Harry’s. He pulled back just as he felt Harry’s hands clench tight in the towels on either side of his body, his breathing quickening unexpectedly as Mitch stared down at him in alarm, not sure if he should risk trying to pull his hand free or just wait this out.

Harry clamped down tight around Mitch’s wrist again and let out a little high-pitched cry. Mitch glanced down at where his soft cock rested dormant against his clenching stomach muscles, wondering if it was even possible for Harry to come untouched when he hadn’t even been hard to start with.

“You still okay?” Mitch asked as Harry’s breathing started to even out again.

Harry’s eyes drifted closed as he gave a small nod in affirmation. “Yeah, I’m—I think you can pull out now.”

Mitch did so carefully, wincing sympathetically when Harry let out a little hiss of pain as Mitch’s knuckles stretched him beyond his comfort levels a second time.

Harry was like a ragdoll as Mitch cleaned him up, the song still playing on repeat in the background. His eyes remained closed the whole time, his mouth slack as he let out soft panting breaths that quickened in response to every brush of the washcloth over the sensitive skin around his hole.

“I feel like I broke you,” Mitch finally confessed as he settled down next to Harry on the floor, maximizing the contact between them by pressing his body against Harry’s side as closely as possible without actually lying on top of him. He was still half-hard, but it wasn’t a pressing concern at the moment.

“It’s a good break,” Harry said dreamily, lessening some of the lingering tension in the pit of Mitch’s stomach.

“That doesn’t even make sense,” Mitch teased, still desperate to lighten the mood a bit.

“I’m astral projecting, Mitchell. I’m on another plane of existence.”

Mitch snorted against Harry’s shoulders. “Whatever you say, baby. Does that mean the fisting song is gonna be space-themed?”

Harry hummed contemplatively and snuggled in closer to Mitch. “Maybe,” he replied in a sleepy voice. “That’s a good idea, yeah.” Then he paused, his head moving back a little so he could stare quizzically at Mitch as his eyes finally opened again. “You know that’s not what astral projection is, right?”

“Oh.”

Harry laughed at him, so hard Mitch was worried he might hurt himself somehow. Finally, he broke off with a rasping cough. “Water, please?” he asked in what Sarah disparagingly liked to call his ‘baby-voice’.

Mitch sighed and got up to grab a bottle from the mini-fridge. He helped Harry sit up when he returned, placing the bottle against his lips so he could drink like the boy actually was a baby, physically incapable of holding it himself.

“Thanks,” Harry told him once he was satisfied. He sighed and closed his eyes again as he burrowed his head into Mitch’s chest. “I’ll blow you in the shower once I can use my legs again,” he promised.

Mitch had to stifle a laugh in the mess of curls on top of Harry’s head. “I don’t know if the album needs two songs about swallowing,” he joked.

Harry lifted his head to glare up at him. “It does if I say it does,” he replied brattily. And to be fair, he was right.


End file.
